


Surrender

by gwyllion



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllion/pseuds/gwyllion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last Author Standing Prompt: Surrender.<br/>This one is dedicated to chamilet, a terrific writer, beta, and supporter of BBM slash, who urged me to participate in this Last Author Standing competition in the category of <i>Movies</i>.  Thanks so much for everything you do for the sake of fandom!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chamilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamilet/gifts).



My knees press into the floor. They sting and scrape with every shift of my weight from one knee to the other. Grit from the sandy creek bank must have snuck into the tent on unsuspecting feet, or fallen from the trapping creases of my clothes. The granules slide, pinched between my skin and the bedroll.

I stay patient, ignoring the scratchy sand.

The coolness of the night air washes over me. I breathe in, letting my shoulders relax with the exhale. My hip bones rest on my rough heels. My hands wait flat-palmed on my thighs. I dig my ragged nails into the skin, worrying some about home.

The lantern light grows brighter when Jack draws the tent flap aside. I squint to watch him crawl in, bringing the smell of kerosene and damp firewood. He threads the worn bungee cord through the bale and hangs the lamp from a ridge pole, shedding his clothes before he says hello.

I let out a sigh, feel his lips touch mine.

We kneel chest to chest. Masked by thin tent walls in the middle of nowhere, I belong to him.

I close my eyes and suck his bottom lip into my mouth, tasting the cigarettes and whiskey.

A breeze spills down the mountain and shakes the pines. The spray of raindrops hits the canvas roof, making me remember Riverton and the tears cried by the wife who was hurt by my broken promises.

Jack cups my chin in his palm to stop me from remembering.

I open my eyes and see only him, his blue eyes glinting in the lantern’s yellow glow.

My hands ache. Knuckles slashed by the razor of barbed wire, they bleed. Calluses from the castrating knife rise from each finger pad closest to my palms. Cracked and scabbed, they slide across Jack’s smooth biceps. I stroke at the swollen veins that carry his lifeblood to the muscles earned on the backs of bulls. The flesh thrums with strength, more powerful than his quick-talking combine and tractor sales pitch, but every bit as persuasive. He delves into the space behind my ears with fingers that feel like they are covered by silken gloves. I tilt my head to close the hollow between my shoulder and his soothing touch, not really wanting to push him away.

But I do it anyway, squeeze him out when a coyote howls into the soft rain at feeding time.

The whelps cry their response, waiting for dinner to be put on the table. Somewhere, in the gathering darkness, the coyote makes a kill.

Jack spears his fingers through my hair. I feel his breath on my eyelashes when he says, “Hey, try not to think about it.”

The yipping stops when the coyote provides for its young, like a good parent. I totter on the edge, wondering if the silence will be temporary or if the quiet will last long enough to let my lover claim me again.

Jack bathes my earlobe with his flat tongue. His hands cradle my head, slide across the back of my neck, fingers loosening the knots of muscle where my hair curls in the dampness. I let myself crave the attention. Jack tugs my thoughts away from the edge. He possesses me and pulls me to him. The pressure of his hands, like a collar around my neck, shatters the memory of demanding babes and angry metal. His touch reminds me that I am his now. There’s no time for tears.

Outside, the breeze tries to fan a spark into a flame.

In the muffled quiet of the tent, I let Jack take care of me. He slides his hands down my back, kneading the tired flesh. He spoils me with words that urge me to forget the monthly child support checks, the dead end ranches, and lonely nights. With each breath I take, my everyday world fades from memory. I needn’t spare a thought, needn’t do a single thing except to let Jack mold me with his hands.

He pushes at my hips and we sink into the blankets.

My work-hardened skin and taut muscles may seem strong, but they wither with the weakness of a boy, a man who has been abandoned by everyone and anything of importance, except Jack. I lick my lips, anticipating. He makes me believe I am a treasure to him.

His knuckles graze my cock.

My brow furrows for an instant with the thought that I should feel uncomfortable, like folks will think I’m not a man if I’m not saddled with the responsibilities of the world slung across my shoulders.

Jack’s hands circle my wrists.

I need this, his fingers stilling my hands, restraining me from worrying about what anyone else thinks. He keeps me safe, where no tire iron or lynch mob or calls of faggot can touch me. I surrender to him and I am finally free to feel.

The wind may blow, scattering raindrops on the tent roof, but Jack is too powerful an opponent to the memories they conjure.

He lays my hands on his bare thighs as he straddles me, our cocks side by side. He trails his fingers over my skin, my nipples pebbled under his hands.

His smile tells me he knows he has succeeded in driving the thoughts of Riverton away. He claims his reward, and I collect the memory of this night to carry with me for the solitary days that will follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Surrender earned me the title of **Last Author Standing** \- 2011, in the category of "Movies.".


End file.
